


Unfinished Stories

by Applefall



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Punk, Blond Pete, From under the cork tree era, Language Barrier, M/M, Unfinished stuff, Virus, ab/ap era, different cultures, etc etc - Freeform, mayfinish, punk!patrick, small andy x joe, small brendon x spencer, small gabe x william
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-02-28 07:08:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2723258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Applefall/pseuds/Applefall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>stories that are unfinished and may or may not be finished.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I'll probably never finish these, but it depends.

He was strawberry blond and blue eyes. Pete's breath caught as he looked at him, eyes wandering downwards to his full bottom lip. A flash of silver, a piercing. His eyes were fiery despite their blue, full of annoyance and confusion. He was shorter than Pete, and oh-so pale. Pete could spot a tattoo creeping up the back of his neck, curling around him. 

He's easily the most attractive man Pete's ever seen. "What exactly did you want?" He asks in a voice that doesn't seem to fit his body, but does at the same time. It's sweet and soft, but harsh at the edges. Pete's breath stutters as the shorter man places hands on hips, cocking his head expectantly. His jeans are tight and fitting, curving over his round ass and accentuating his thick thighs. His shirt is tight fitting and buttons up, showing a slight pudge to his stomach. Definitely the most attractive person he's ever seen.

"Uh, I wanted to say that your employee was being a huge dickbag." Pete supplies, managing to find his voice as this small man glared at him.

"Which one?" He asks, crossing his arms. They're pale pale pale, unmarked. Pete's not sure if he's disappointed that they're ink free, or if he likes the unmarked milky skin.

"The tall, mexican one." Pete says, and Patrick's face softens. He uncrossed his arms and sticks them in his pockets, rocking back and forth of the balls of his feet. 

"Yeah, he's like that. I'll have to talk to him again. And he's Uruguayan." Patrick says, blinking blue eyes in understandment. "D'you maybe wanna drink? On the house." He says with a softer tone of voice, the harsh edges falling away. His cheeks are pink, Pete notices.

"Yeah, I'd like that, thanks." Pete tells him, and is surprised when the small man beckons him to the bar area. 

"I'm Patrick." He says after he situated himself at the bar, and leans forward on his elbows. "What type of drink would you like? Rum? Whisky? You look like a whiskey kinda guy." Patrick tells him, watching him with a slight smirk.

It's true, Pete's a whiskey guy. "Yeah, I am. What about you?" Patrick looks like he'd like wine, cultivated and aged.

"Kinda like rum and wine. I'm a bit of a whiskey guy too." Patrick says, gaze not leaving Pete's, but his sky blue eyes darkening to a greener color, eyebrows raising slightly.

"Yeah?" Pete says, just to fill their conversation. And then he notices the piercing in Patrick's ear as he turns, grabbing something. He turns and bends over to grab something, and when he straightens, Pete doesn't even pretend he wasn't staring at his ass. Patrick gives him a smirk and mixes his drink, passing it to him when it's ready. Pete tips his head back and feels it travel down his throat, leaving a warm trail. Patrick watches him with hungry eyes, not even avoiding his gaze. There's a pink blush on his cheek, and Pete wants to see how far down that blush travels.

"Never seen you before." Patrick breathes, watching Pete swallow down his drink. 

"First time here. Glad to see there's such an... Involved owner. Last bar I went to the owner wasn't really much to look at. You're a much better sight." Pete says, putting as much charm as he can into his words. It works, because Patrick's cheeks redden more, but he doesn't avert his gaze.

"Glad to see I'm getting such attractive customers." Patrick winks, moving his tongue to play with the lip piercing. Suddenly, Pete wants to do that, wants to put his mouth on Patrick and tongue that piercing. Pete stands abruptly, swallowing.

"I'm a musician too. I heard you singing up on stage. I knew your voice would be perfect for my lyrics. Care to come see them?" Pete asks, knowing there's a suggestive tone behind them. Patrick pretends to think and then nods.

"Bar'll be in good hands. Guess it wouldn't hurt." Patrick says coyly, and saunters out from behind the counter. "Lead the way, emo boy." He says, licking his plump bottom lip. Pete's cock twitches in interest and he walks out of the bar and to his car, Patrick following him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick likes Pete's blond hair.

Maybe, just maybe Patrick has thing for Pete's dyed hair. It's blond and shorter than ever, but the blond of it makes his eyebrows darker, his whiskey eyes brighter and his tanned skin darker. After he dyes it and Patrick sees him for the first time, he totally blanks.

"Like my hair, Lunchbox?" Pete grins at him, using a term of endearment that's nearly fifteen years old. Patrick swallows and nods, unable to find his voice. "I didn't think blond suited me." Pete says with a cheeky grin. Patrick shakes his head slowly.

"No, it looks...great." Patrick manages, eyes flitting to where Pete's brighter eyes seem to be glowing. 

"You should dye yours blond again, then we can be twins." Pete grins at him, snatching the signature fedora off of Patrick's head and plopping it on his own. "Or maybe I can just become you," Pete jokes, throwing an arm around Patrick's neck and dragging him close. Patrick makes a protesting noise and then laughs, allowing Pete to ruffle his hair. Nothing's really changed from twelve years ago. 

"But that's my hat!" Patrick says in a mock angry voice. Pete shrugs and tugs on a lock of strawberry blond hair.

"Where's your knit hat? With the visor? The one I got you?" Pete asks softly. Patrick's heart jumps, and he exhales a shaky breath. That was the first hat he'd ever owned. Pete had seen his insecurities from the moment they met and the night before their first show, handed him a knit cap, whispering that he could hide himself for a little while. 

"I've still got it. In- in my bag, actually." Patrick confesses, looking away from Pete's smiling face. It's true, it's in his duffle. He takes it on every tour and to every show they play, though he rarely wears it anymore. Sometimes to sleep he will, tugging it over his hair and reminiscing. 

"Put it on." Pete asks, though it's more of a plea. Patrick nods and struggles out of his grasp, returning minutes later with it clutched in his hands. He pulls it on, lowering the visor a bit. He sees Pete grinning widely.

"You don't look a day older than when I met you, 'Trick." Pete breaths, watching him with a sort of pride and admiration. 

"You're an old man. Always were." Patrick jokes, and Pete walks forward and pulls him into a hug that crushes him. "Pete," Patrick groans, but hugs his best friend back anyways. Pete pulls away and hesitates, and then plants soft lips on Patrick's. Patrick is stunned, and Pete's starting to pull away and he panics. "No, I've waited too long for this moment." Patrick rushes out, and then cups Pete's face and kisses him slow and hard. Pete makes a pleased noise and frames his face, sighing. Patrick knocks off the stupid fedora and tugs on a short lock of Pete's hair.

"I take it back. Your hair looks amazing." Patrick whispers a few minutes later.


	3. Chapter 3

Patrick hums as he plays his guitar, plucking out notes and writing them down every so often. Pete's sprawled on the couch, scrolling through his phone and stopping every so often to chuckle. Patrick continues working out some music, and he feels entirely calm and entirely relaxed. It's been so long since he's had free time and he's so glad he's spending it with Pete. Now that they have tour buses, they can travel without getting sick of each other.

Patrick doesn't even know Pete is watching him until he looks up, feeling a gaze on him. And there's Pete's whiskey colored eyes watching him, not even bothering to look away when caught. "What?" Patrick demands, fidgeting under his gaze. It's making his skin prickle, in a way that's both torturous and pleasant. 

"You look so cute when you're figuring out notes." Pete says a few moments later, gnawing on a fingernail. Patrick narrows his eyes.

"Oh, shut up." Patrick tells him, and Pete's eyes widen and he frowns. 

"Lunchbox, really. When you have your tongue just like, sticking out in concentration and when your eyes light up when you figure something good out." Pete insists, without a hint of joking in his voice.

Patrick swallows, because he's Patrick Stump and he's not cute or hot or sexy. He's just Patrick, overweight twenty one year old. No one's ever found him attractive, and maybe that's why he's never even had sex. He's twenty one and a fucking virgin, and his cheeks color with heat. He shakes his head slowly, casting his eyes downward.

It happens so fast that Patrick nearly doesn't even register it. Pete flings himself off the couch, and then he's sitting next to Patrick, grabbing his chin and pulling it to look at him, gently. "Lunchbox, can't you see? You're literally- literally perfect. With your stupid hats and your stupid sideburns and your stupid eyes that change from blue to green. You're so frustrating, Patrick." Pete says, the words tumbling out of his mouth easily, like he's known this for years. Patrick is stunned, and he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and bites down, looking at Pete nervously.

Before Patrick's eyes, Pete's pupil dilates and the whiskey color is nearly swallowed. Patrick shudders under his intense gaze, before leaning forward, heart thumping madly. Pete follows suit instantly and soon his lips are brushing Patrick's soft and hesitant. Patrick replies by pressing forward, moving his lips firmly against Pete's. He meant it to be chaste, but after a few moments Pete's mouth is sliding open and Pete's hand tilts his head to deepen their kiss. He runs his tongue along the inside of Patrick's mouth, just behind his bottom lip. They both groan when their tongues meet, and suddenly Pete is straddling Patrick, pressing both hands to his face.

When they finally break away, Patrick is trembling in arousal. He's hard against Pete, and he can feel Pete hard as well. "I- I didn't know you felt this way." Patrick manages, and Pete licks his lips. Patrick watches the movement, and it's so deliberate that Patrick knows Pete's teasing him.

"Well, you're pretty blind. Everyone except you knew." Pete murmurs against his neck, and Patrick tilts his head, exposing his pale neck. Pete bites down almost instantly, suckling at his neck, causing Patrick to cry out in pleasure. Pete swipes his tongue over the bite a moment later, soothing the skin. When he pulls back, he seems to be admiring something,

"P-please tell me, is it, is it gonna leave a mark?" Patrick asks hopefully, breath stammering. Pete nods slowly and Patrick whines in response.

"Yeah, 'cause you're mine." Pete whispers against his skin a few minutes later, and Patrick nods fervently in agreement.

"Yours, ever only yours," Patrick gasps out in reply, because Pete's starting to move his hips in a slow and tantalizing manner. Patrick could get used to this.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Meonen are not a real tribe, obviously, and this is all made up. Also not spell checked or grammar checked because it was written on my phone.

The boy is beautiful. He has piercing eyes that are neither green or blue, but somewhere in between, and creamy skin that's unmarked. He watches Pete from behind the glass, perplexed. His hand moves and flattens against the glass and he stares at it, a confused look on his face. He can't get though. 

Pete sucks in a breath when the boy bares his teeth angrily. His teeth are sharper than they should be, but it's a recognizable trait of the Meonen tribe. They all have fair skin and fair hair, but this boy was the palest of them all, with unusual hair that was a strawberry color. Pete protested for so long, but his research team didn't listen. They'd captured one, the boy, brought him back to Pete for studies. Pete had been furious, but it had been too late to take him back. The next trip they could make would have to be in the next few months. Once the tribe knew they were there, they had to leave and their next trip couldn't be for a while.

Pete can hear the boy growling in frustration and talking in a language Pete didn't know. He brings a hand down to hit the glass, and Pete swallows again. The habitat area is large and is full of forest life like the boy would be used to, but the boy doesn't seem to notice any of it. He tilts his head and watches Pete with a hurt look in his eyes. He's wearing clothes that are long and made from wool, and they have an old look to them. Pete knows it comes straight from the sheep and is spun in the village, and it hangs off of him. It covers most of his chest and his groin, curling under him and around him. It's like some sort of weird toga, but tighter and with more mobility: Pete can spot a rosy nipple, and he watches him curiously. 

He's not thin, but not overweight. Pete thinks he knows why. The tribe seemed to nearly worship him, bringing him their best food on a daily basis. He's seen the pictures and the videos, taken secretly by his team. The boy always thanks them with a nod and an embrace, locking fists around their back to squeeze them. It's a peculiar type of hug, but it works. Pete has a theory as to why it is. The boy is so much paler than all of them, and as far as he knows, has the sharpest teeth and the darkest hair. His eyes are intelligent and wide, his cheeks round and his lips full. The boy is very attractive, and the Meonen's seem to worship beauty. The Meonen's usually keep beautiful flowers around and make only the most vibrant of clothes, using dyes unknown to Pete. It's crazy to think about, but the boy is living proof.

He can't be more than seventeen. There's no way to know, except by the softness of his body and the lack of lines on his face. Pete knows that this boy is probably the most beautiful person he has ever seen, far more beautiful than the models he'd once dated. 

The boy draws away from the glass and shuffles his feet. The sandals he wears are odd looking but they stay on. Pete clicks his pen and the boy sighs and mumbles something, before sitting down and crossing his legs. He places his hands in his lap and closes his eyes, and then opens his mouth and begins to sing. It's in foreign words Pete cannot understand, but the boys voice is clear and sweet, and as far as Pete can see, spanning multiple octaves. The boy sings for a while longer before opening his eyes and fixing his gaze on Pete. It's a little sad, but also curious. 

Pete gasps when the boy raises his pale arm to mouth, opening his mouth and tearing the skin with a canine that is nearly as sharp as a cats. Blood trickles down his arm and he pulls away, swiping some up with a finger. Pete watches in utter fascination and confusion as he lowers his scarlet stained finger to the dirt, drawing shapes. Pete cranes his head to look, and it's a pattern that doesn't make sense to him. When the boy finishes he look satisfied, smearing the rest of the blood across his arm in attempt to wipe it away. When it doesn't, he frowns and looks up at Pete expectantly, scooting forward until he's resting on the pattern. He chants a few words in his strange language and then looks at Pete once more, and then down at his arm.

Pete can't help it. He grabs a towel that's in a cabinet and wets it, then heads through the habitats doors. He spots the boy, eyes closed, and he walks towards him, stilling when his head turns swiftly and he bares his teeth. Pete puts his hands up and tells him soothing things, and he seems to calm down. Pete slowly approaches him, kneeling next to him. "I'm Pete. Pete. Peeeete." Pete drags out his name, pointing at his chest. The boy looks perplexed, and he squirms uncomfortably.

"P-Pe-Pe?" He manages after a few minutes of visible struggling. Pete chuckles and nods. It's close enough. He rattles off words in his language before saying very clearly, "Pa'riak." There is a clicking noise thats smooth and flawless in the word, following the first syllable. Pete realizes it's his name.

"Pa'riak?" Pete repeats, struggling with the click. The boy actually giggles before saying his name again, slower and clearer. 

"Patrick." Pete suddenly says, and Pa'riak's eyes light up. He nods, watching Pete, expectant. "Patrick." Pete says again, louder. Pa'riak makes a delighted noise and his eyes brighten visibly.

"Parik." He repeats, forcing the words out. He's getting there, but he has an odd accent that Pete can't place a finger on. "Patrik," Patrick manages after a few more tries, nearly getting it. He says it a few more times before saying it well. Pete laughs in delight, and watches as Patrick claps his hands together excitedly. His sharp teeth glint when he throws his head back and lets out a laugh, not unlike Pete's own. His neck is pale and looks soft, and Pete is mesmerized by it. When he straightens himself out he looks down at the drying blood, before saying something.

Pete wraps gentle fingers around his wrist and Patrick makes a squeaking noise, loud and frightened. His eyes widen and Pete runs circles into his hand with his thumb. Patrick settles down, watching him closely. Pete continues the circles when he grabs the towel from his shoulder, dabbing it against Patrick's small cut. He squeaks again, arm jerking, but Pete holds it still. "It could get infected, Patrick, hold still." He instructs, though he knows Patrick cannot understand him. 

He finishes cleaning off the blood and then examines the cut. It's more like a scratch, but Pete swipes the towel across it anyways, cleaning it. Patrick's much more calmer, eyes now drooping. He sways when Pete finally releases him, and then hums a gentle tune. Pete glances around, spotting the cot that was laid out. From their research, it's similar to the one his tribe sleeps in, and Pete carefully helps him up. Patrick doesn't protest, but allows Pete to half carry him to the cot. He spread out across it, smiling happily. Pete sighs in relief, before pulling the thin woolen blanket over him. Patrick seems to like it and he snuggles into it, looking up at Pete. Pete smiles softly and begins to walk away, when Patrick says quietly, "P-P-Pete." It's unsure and pronounced oddly, but it's close to his name and Pete's smile widens. Then his eyes close and he turns into his side, drawing the thin blanket closer. 

After he's sure Patrick's fallen asleep, Pete heads back into his lab and sits in his chair, watching Patrick sleep for a while before falling asleep himself. He dreams of piercing blue eyes and a haunting song that he can't understand.


	5. Chapter 5

Patrick sucks in a breath as he stares at the grade on his paper. It's a forty five on a test, and it's not like it matters that much, but he's had such a bad day. First some bullies take his hat, then he discovers he's failing math. The grade on the test is like the cherry on top of a horrible day.

Tears sting his eyes as he thinks through the day. He's so sick of school, but he's still got a few months before graduation. He stuffs the test in his backpack and slings it over his shoulder just as the bell rings, and then he's heading out of the classroom, down the stairs, and out of school. He's just going to go home and sulk for a while. He blames it on teenage angst. 

Except when he goes to his car, Pete's leaning against it, arms crossed and a slight grin on his face. It widens when he spots Patrick, and he bounds over to him and spins him into a hug that crushes Patrick. Patrick's heart thumps erratically. It's been months since he's seen his boyfriend, months. Pete's college is in an entirely different state.

"Pete, what are you doing here?" Patrick says, voice muffled by Pete's jacket. Pete responds by squeezing him tighter. 

"I missed you. And it's break now." Pete says a few moments later, pulling away and linking their fingers together. He leans down and kisses Patrick, and Patrick sighs into his mouth. A few girls giggle as they pass them, and a few boys snort and call out mean names, but Patrick can't care less. Pete pulls away and Patrick makes a noise of protest, and Pete chuckles and rubs his hip with his thumb. It's electric and Patrick jolts, drawing another laugh from Pete.

"We could go back to my place? My moms not getting home till late." Patrick suggests, and Pete whines at this, leaning to press his forehead against Patrick's.

"I wanted to take you out on a date. Like an actual date." Pete says, and a needy sound escapes Patrick when Pete brushes his lips against his. "Yeah? 

Patrick shivers under his touch and nods, smiling happily. "Yeah." He breathes, standing on his toes to kiss Pete's forehead. "We have time." And when Patrick finally graduates, they're going to have all the time in the world.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'll probably continue this because I like it. Probably will drag it out.

In a dead world, it's them that help Pete survive. Patrick, Andy, Joe, then Panic! kids and the entirety of Cobra Starship. Even their newest member, Eric. Pete was entirely content with downing his two bottles of pills and kicking it then, but Patrick had changed his mind completely. So what if the virus wiped out probably 94 percent of the world? They had each other, Patrick had argued.

They're stuck in a warehouse in Chicago. There's really not many people left to be threats, but they hardly ever leave. The warehouse is large and supports all of them, tons of rooms. Joe and Andy share a room, like Brendon and Spencer. There have been hardships, including watching loved ones die. Gabe howled in anguish as William's life faded in his arms, William choking on his own blood until his eyes glazed over and he was gone. Pete had been terrified from that moment that a similar fate would meet Patrick. 

Patrick, so young and so beautiful, with his whole life ahead of him. Not anymore. At a sweet eighteen, he was ready to start his life, eager to leave home. Now he couldn't. In the two weeks following the wipeout, he'd lost weight, his large belly thinning into a soft pudge. His once vibrant eyes were duller and sadder, his pale skin even paler. Patrick, who once had endless possibilities.

They're playing cards when Gabe bursts into a fit of tears. Before, in their old life, Pete had never seen him cry. Now, it was a daily occurrence. Ever since William died, he'd been a wreck. Patrick's head snaps up, eyes widening and he looks at Pete. He looks exhausted from his watching shift. The shifts rotate, but Pete's terrified that they'll wake up and Patrick will be gone, blood spilling out of his pink lips.

Victoria shifts from her position to where she's patting Gabe's back, a sad look on her face. Brendon looks away and grasps Spencer's hand, who squeezes it. Andy stands and leaves the room, Joe trailing after him after a look back. 

Patrick scoots closer to Pete, and Pete throws an arm around him. They're not intimate or romantic, but Patrick always comes to him for comfort. Pete wishes they could be romantic, wants to hold him in an entirely different way. "C'mon, Patrick." Pete whispers in his ear and he stands, Patrick following. They head to Pete's room and collapse on the bed, tangling their legs together and staring up at the ceiling. 

"Do you ever wish... wish this could just be over? Wish that you could just die already?" Patrick asks in a whisper, closing his eyes. "I wish it was over."

Pete's heart constructs and he turns over until he's in top of Patrick, straddling his waist and glaring down at him. "Yes. But you made me stay, you kept me alive and now I'm going to keep you alive. You got that? You're not dying on me, Lunchbox." Pete says, the words tumbling out of his mouth. Patrick looks at him, frowning. Pete takes the chance and leans down, pressing lips against Patrick's. Patrick squeaks and then wraps arms around his neck, drawing him closer. Their kiss is hurried and desperate, Patrick grinding up against him and moaning into his mouth. Pete breaks away a few minutes later, laughing breathlessly.

"I guess I can stay. For you." Patrick breaths, and kisses him again. "God, I've wanted this for so long." Patrick says, slipping his hand underneath Pete's shirt.

"Me too." Pete gasps as Patrick runs a hand down his chest. "Me too, Patrick." In a world of death and disease, Patrick will be there, arms outstretched and waiting for Pete.


	7. Chapter 7

Pete's more than a little jealous when Andy and Patrick start dating. He tries to convince himself that no, he's not jealous, he just cares about Patrick and doesn't want Andy to break his heart. Andy is pretty good at breaking hearts.

But Pete endures the way Patrick trails after Andy like a puppy and cuddles next to him on the couches, ignores the way Andy will drop kisses on his forehead and will ignore the soft and quiet grunts and moans coming from Andy's bunk. He keeps telling himself he's not jealous.

It takes the sight of Patrick pressed against the wall, Andy's arms on either side of him and head lifted to meet Andy's lips that makes him realize he's jealous. Really jealous. Pete nearly socks Andy in the face, but he holds back, fingers twitching. He loves Andy and all, but he's pissed that he got to Patrick first. Patrick is the first to notice him and he breaks away from Andy, chest heaving and lips swollen. "Pete," Patrick begins, annoyed. Pete ducks his head and scampers out of the room, because he can't meet Patrick's eyes or face Andy's annoyed stare.

So he runs back to the bunks and pretends to be asleep when the two stumble in later, giggling and moaning.

Patrick is supposed to be his. His! Hasn't he said it so many times? He's always thought he's made his undying love for Patrick clear and apparent, but it doesn't seem so, considering the loud and long moan that Pete can hear. Now he's just furious, and he turns in the bunk and makes a sleepy grunt, which makes the two of them still and become quiet, a giggle escaping Patrick occasionally.

Pete pretends to be asleep and pretends that he doesn't hear Patrick's content sigh as Andy snuggles close to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Andy/Patrick


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> collar fic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what am i doing with life

Patrick loves feeling owned. It's why he mentioned it all those years ago to Pete, who had reluctantly agreed. It was just a small suggestion,  _maybe I could wear a collar_ , that turned into so much more.

At first it had only been during sex. Pete would loop the collar around his neck and make sure it was tight enough for there to be a soft pressure against Patrick's neck. Despite his initial hesitation, Pete had found it incredibly hot to "own" Patrick. But for Patrick, it was almost entirely different. He loved the feeling of Pete owning him and being Pete's. Patrick loved that Pete loved him enough to take care of him and hold him close at night. 

As time went on, Patrick began to wear the collar outside of the bedroom. It was fine in their home, Pete only questioned him once. He'd understood and held his arms out for Patrick to curl into him,collar snug against his neck. For Patrick, it was a sense of security. He eventually found ways to wear it outside of the house, under a scarf or hidden under a turtleneck. There had been moments where he'd almost been caught, but he never had. Pete never looked at him funny or was turned off by the idea, in fact, he seemed even more turned on when Patrick had the collar on.

The collar evolved into so much more than just a collar for Patrick, that when he lost it, he had a full blown panic attack. They'd been packing things, ready to move into a bigger house for the two of them. Somewhere in the midst of all the packing, his collar had been misplaced. He'd taken it off to shower and placed it on the bed, he was sure of it. Patrick searched frantically around the bedroom, chest tight and arms trembling. Pete came home to find his fiance sobbing on the bedroom floor, hands curled around his neck as if he was trying to replicate the feel of the collar. Pete had hurried and gathered him into his arms, soothing him and stroking his hair gently until he'd calmed down. Together they searched for the collar, and they'd found it behind the bed, having fallen after Hemmy jumped onto the bed. 

It was at that time that Pete realized Patrick needed the collar. It wasn't a want but a need, something Patrick required to function. Pete put the collar onto Patrick with soothing words and soft fingers and had climbed into bed, pushing Hemmy off the bed. Hemmy snorted but retreated into the living room, presumably to sleep on his own bed. Patrick had crawled in next to him, curling against his chest and Pete had wrapped an arm around him, kissing his temple. The collar was there, but they'd both gotten so used to it over the years, they hardly noticed it.

 


End file.
